It was one of the maddest evenings Pavan had witnessed in his already mad life. The whole gang had left college in the afternoon itself to move in with an elderly relative of Ankur’s. Ankur’s very old aunt with an even older pair of hearing aids, didn’t particularly look the kind who was bursting to listen to the plans the youngsters had made for the evening.
Instead she seemed quite pleased to have so many visitors, especially polite and helpful guests like Souvik who rather instantly took to the kitchen and settled down to cutting vegetables for his own pre-wedding dinner. Pavan, of course, kept laughing so hard, that he was packed off to buy chocolate cake from an upmarket bakery, as Vyas placed the order for pizza.
Ankur and Sonali meanwhile had visited the registration office where a suspicious grey haired clerk presumed they were getting married. Ankur strangely, quite liked the thought. Even having a runaway wedding with Sonali would be fun, he concluded. Especially after he had seen Souvik and Jaishree confide and trust each other more. Secrecy, it seemed brought people closer.
The trickiest, however, had been arranging for a priest. After much cajoling and bribing they had finally managed to secure the services of a middle aged cell phone wielding priest with a balding pate. He had arrived at the temple grumbling, knowing fully well that the youngsters weren’t about to give him the pampering and privileges due to a Brahmin.
Infact he continued sulking, till Vyas went up to himand spoke Telugu and the priest then instantly smiled and became as sweet as honey. Speaking in one’s mother tongue instantly bridges the gap between people. The priest kept chatting with Vyas like they were old school friends. The wedding, it seemed, was only incidental. The paan chewing priest confirmed this suspicion when his cell phone rang just before the ceremony began.
Jaishree looked resplendent with flowers decorating her hair, beginning at the back of her head till the end of her thick braid. She looked, in every sense, a traditional Indian bride. There was no time to apply mehendi of course, and Souvik was thankful for it. He never quite liked the slightly foul smelling henna that transformed a girl’s dainty hands to a depressing dark brown colour. But even that would not have bothered him today.
Souvik had chosen the tiny, obscure temple that lay on the outskirts of the city, close to a lake. Water had played a major role in Souvik and Jaishree’s relationship and here they were getting married facing a lake. In just the same way he had proposed to her. Of course there was this other little proposal he had not told anyone of. On the third day of Souvik’s mother’s stay in the hospital, Jaishree had come visiting for the fourth consecutive time. While they sat in a relatively un-visited outpatient’s ward for an obligatory blood test result, Souvik had got down on his bended knee. Again.
Of course, this was regardless of a one member audience they had in the form of an elderly man who had undergone a cataract surgery. Quite naturally his eyes were bandaged.
A deeply embarrassed Jaishree had turned a shade red. She hurriedly nodded her approval smiling lest anyone came in. For the first time since his mother was admitted, Souvik grinned. Jaishree was truly the sunshine of his life.
Forty-Five
‘A Bengali and a Tamilian being married by a Telugu priest chanting Sanskrit slokas. Talk about a national wedding!’ said Ankur playfully as the ceremony was drawing to a close.
The Brahma mahurat was long since over and instead the early morning rays had beckoned some sincere punctual joggers.
Jogging around the lake was apparently a routine for some who parked their cars at some distance just so that they could enjoy a morning walk around the calm waters . Afew had actually slowed down so that they could have a better look at the goings-on in the usually deserted temple.
There were a total of eight people at the wedding. This including the priest and an old female sweeper who sat with a broom in hand, her head resting on one of the temple pillars. It was her job to clean up after the youngsters left. Ankur almost felt guilty. It hardly felt like a wedding.
There was no food, no dance and the only music around emanated from an old tape recorder that played the same nadaswaram music over and over again.
When Ankur looked at the half asleep sweeper by the temple stairs, he imagined the thoughts that may have run through her head. The little group, including the bride and the groom, looked like they had come for a fancy dress competition. The boys had a tough time making Souvik wear a dhoti who had a tougher time keeping it on and the bride was single-handedly dressed by Sonali.
Using eye shadow and lipstick alternately, Sonali had set to work with the seriousness of an artist painting a canvas. Of course she used other make up items but the trouble was in helping Jaishree make up her mind whether she wanted to be so gaudily dressed. More importantly, did she want to get married in the first place? But now with make up on her face and Souvik waiting just outside her door, the decision seemed to have already been made. Jaishree would go ahead with the wedding. She would do all the making up with her family later.
Under normal circumstances, a groom is not allowed to see his bride until the wedding ceremony. Yet that didn’t prevent Souvik from being very much a part of the brides’s chambers, giving his expert comments on how to dress her up. The bridal pair kept giving happy smiles as they gave each other tips on finishing touches. Seeing them help dress each other, the male brains visualised just the opposite, and quite naturally they were seen exchanging naughty smiles.
‘Once you are a married man, there are a lot of questions we’ll be asking you!’ Ankur had said as Pavan grinned and Vyas smirked.
‘In fact there are a lot of questions I need to ask myself!’ Souvik replied with a mischievous glint in his eye just as the would-be Mrs Bose called him from upstairs.
The auspicious time was slipping away and they had to be at the venue soon. The hired white Zen, that drove them to the temple at two in the morning was a pleasant change from the horrid Ambassador ride. Vyas and Pavan came together on a bike so there was ample place in the car. Sonali sat at the back with the bride whom the guys had already begun calling bhabhi, and Ankur drove the nervous groom to his final destination.
By the time the ceremony was over, it was six in the morning. And the collective stomachs that had digested the pizzas the previous day began to grumble. Alocal South Indian restaurant that opened early witnessed the fine sight of a fully dressed bride along with her groom walking in for breakfast. The owner, in a generous mood, gave a heavy discount on the sumptuous sambar and Mysore vada and idli-dosa breakfast, the first meal shared by Jaishree and Souvik as a married couple. The idea of a runaway wedding didn’t seem so bad to Ankur, after all!
Forty-Six
‘Kaavya and Karthik,’ Souvik said.
‘What?’ Jaishree sleepily enquired
‘The names of our kids,’ Souvik clarified as if he was giving the latest news update.
Jaishree blushed.
It had been a few days since the wedding and most of the class was already scattered. The bridal pair themselves were quite collected though.
“‘Kaavya”, because it means poetry and that brought us together…and “Karthik” because…that’s the only Tamil Brahmin male name I could think of,’ Souvik explained. Jaishree almost laughed.
‘How come you didn’t think of Srinath?’ Jaishree playfully enquired.
Souvik remained silent. He would rather not comment on the guy who nearly stole his girl.
‘Imagine, he still thinks I’m single and breathlessly waiting for his approval!’ Jaishree said gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling.
Souvik still remained silent. Except that now his silence grew ominous. Jaishree also realised this. ‘So what else…what else have you thought about for our future?’ the young bride asked purposely emphasising on the word ‘our’.
Souvik brightened again and like a happy child he continued. ‘We’ll have a big house…two kids and one dog… we can even adopt…,’ Souvik spoke as if in a trance.
‘I’v
e already adopted you,’ Jaishree said and broke into a giggle. Souvik pretended to take offence.
‘I want a little girl…who will be my tiny princess. Daughters always resemble their dads…so I guess she’ll be beautiful,’ Souvik said flicking his thin straight hair in a gesture of self importance. Jaishree rolled her eyes, amused.
‘Boys of course are always playing and breaking things…,’ Souvik added as if justifying himself.
‘Really?’ Jaishree playfully enquired. ‘I know of a boy who always likes to play…’
It was Souvik’s turn to blush but then he quickly added, ‘But if you remember, I’ve yet to succeed fully in breaking something,’ Souvik said with an evil glint coming into his eyes.
‘No!’ Jaishree shrieked and then giggled her way out of his reach.
‘WHAAT?’ Mr Subramaniam’s anger was understandable. Ankur was just glad that he wasn’t around to witness it ‘live’. Yet the broadcast he was forced to watch at Souvik’s paying guest accommodation made him want to dig a trench and bury himself at the earliest.
Threats in vernacular languages, as Ankur was slowly realising, somehow seemed more menacing. Ankur had always at a certain level wanted to be just like Souvik. Except for now. Having clandestinely married a South Indian, Souvik might as well prepare himself to resemble freshly ground idli batter.
The traditional Bengali tongue meanwhile, it is said, has trouble pronouncing the syllable ‘s’. Instead out rolls a happy ‘sh’. In that case with Jaishree’s relatives threatening to lodge a ‘Po-lees’ complaint, Ankur had only one wish for Souvik. May God ‘sh-ave’ him!
Yet, the deed was done. The couple was married. Nothing could change that. Besides the bridal pair themselves were lawyers. It was left to the young advocates to win their lives’ most important case.
Forty-Seven
‘As a child I had once collided with a buffalo…thus began my love affair with the bovine family,’ Ankur was saying onstage to an audience in splits. It was their farewell day. There was a collective laugh. Some were still walking into the auditorium in little herds. It was the last day of college and everybody suddenly wanted to be part of a group.
‘So have you finally found someone from the same species?’ Acheeky voice from the audience called. Awave of laughter rippled through the crowd. Ankur thought of Sonali and the dairy farm her family owned back in Gujarat.
‘Not quite!’ Ankur said. ‘I plan to open a marriage bureau to cater to this special need…you can be my first client!’ Ankur quipped. His eyes scanned the crowd. Sonali and the rest of the gang were sitting in one of the middle rows. Ankur was taking part in the ‘Mr AIU College’ contest and that was the reason behind his imbecilic monologue.
Sonali and Jaishree could have taken part in the ‘Ms AIU College’ contest, but Sonali was not interested and Jaishree was too happy to care, dressed in a pink sari sitting next to Souvik. ‘Will Jaishree start coming to college dressed only in saris?’ Pavan had wanted to know after the wedding. ‘Of course!’ answered Sonali. ‘As long as Souvik arrives in college wearing only dhotis.’ With less than one month left for college to close, it didn’t matter much what Jaishree wore. Yet that didn’t stop her from buying every conceivable shade of pink, maroon and red salwar kameezes. These were after all the indulgences of a new bride.
Sonali meanwhile had different plans up her pretty sleeve. Having known her for over half a decade, Ankur should have known.
‘John Donne, the poet,’ Ankur had stated, ‘said that a woman’s love should never be trusted, since it has no empirical evidence to support it.’
‘Wow!’ Sonali had retorted, ‘You ought to find yourself a guy then…I’ve always wondered what a gay wedding would be like!’ It was Ankur’s turn to be slightly ruffled and amused. He laughed in response. Yet he somehow felt that there ought to be some wisdom in Donne’s words. Especially since speaking of his marriage, the poet wrote, ‘John Donne, Anne Donne, Undone.’
And Souvik already seemed a little undone.
Ankur had never seen anyone multitask so much in hislife.
Souvik had arranged to move into a one bedroom flat along with Jaishree, just as he sat for his final year law exam, attended campus recruitments and posted his resume on every conceivable job site. Interviewers, Souvik was learning could be quite rude. ‘Why do you want to join our firm?’ one of them had asked.
‘Because I like the job,’ Souvik had answered confidently.
‘Do you like ice cream?’ was the next question and Souvik had smiled saying, ‘Yes, of course!’ ‘Why don’t you join an ice cream parlour, then?’ That had caught him unprepared!
Besides, just the previous, day Souvik and Jaishree had celebrated their first month anniversary. He had gifted her a gold ring encrusted with tiny diamonds. It was a wedding ring a month too late. With his myopic eyes Ankur couldn’t distinguish the size of the dot size diamonds but he could distinguish something else—the size of Souvik’s heart.
Forty-Eight
Sonali was in a mood to keep herself entertained. She had actually managed to get Ankur Palekar to propose to her. Rather involuntarily, that is. Ankur was sitting by himself one afternoon, a week after the wedding, when Sonali walked up to him with a greeting card. ‘No! Not one of your poems!’ Ankur said, playfully rolling his eyes. Sonali simply smiled and gave him the card and left.
Ankur opened the card expecting the usual predictable four lines when he got the shock of his life. The title of the poem read At My Wedding! For a second the world seemed to stand still. Sonali was twenty-two. And a Gujarati. It was expected that she would be getting married early. Yet she chose to inform him of this latest development through a poem of all things. Talk about creativity during crises. Ankur couldn’t read the poem fast enough. It read:
At My Wedding!
The wedding hall is decorated,
The chairs all arranged,
Harried relatives all scurrying about,
Both normal and deranged!
Cards will be distributed
Shrill Hindi music there shall be,
As a bunch of left-footed dancers will manage to congregate,
At what will be called a wedding party!
Yet it will be a sweet affair,
With friends in a congratulatory mood,
Who of course will dematerialise,
If there isn’t any lip smacking food!
There will be sweets and dance and music,
And flowers that will fill a room
But something is still missing,
Ah Yes! The Groom!!
Ankur smiled when he read the last line. Then he laughed. It was a laugh out of sheer relief. Sonali had actually given him a scare. He suddenly felt very sheepish. It was a good wake up call. All of a sudden, Ankur Palekar knew exactly what he had to do.
He bent on all fours like a playful puppy, tottered up to her, pretended to sniff her about, and said, ‘Your pet is here, woof woof, where’s my doggy collar?’
It took the speechless Sonali a moment to recover from this sudden play act by her friend.
But she quickly caught on the act and said, ‘No, not a puppy. Her Highness, the Lioness fancies a different pet.’
Immediately, Ankur sprang up to his feet, slipped his arm through her’s, and looking into her eyes said, ‘Your Arien, the Ram, promises to be a little lamb and follow you forever and ever…and ever. Will you make me the missing groom?!’
Ankur’s immediate juniors were clueless about what they were supposed to do on stage. It was the duty of the juniors to hold the formal farewell send off for the seniors. At the end of the ‘Prayer Song’ one thing was clear. Only prayers could have helped the song! After the hideously off key braying, there was a rather uncoordinated dance with loud blaring music and of course, the Dean’s ‘just a few words’ speech.
Realising that this was probably the last time he had the legal right to lecture to the outgoing batch of lawyers, the Dean decided to make full use of it
. Even the loud drone of everybody speaking among themselves in the hall didn’t deter him. He simply went on and on, much to the irritation of the juniors who had timed the programme. It was probably the only thing they had attempted to do neatly. The stage decorations it seemed, had begun, that morning itself. Since a festoon right above the Dean’s head had broken free and fluttered teasingly. But the huge male audience had better things to watch—girls dressed in elegant and colourful saris.
For the first time in her life, Jaishree Subramaniam decided to openly assert herself in college. She came for the farewell wearing sindoor and a mangalsutra. The auditorium was abuzz as many male and female jaws collectively dropped. Even some of the lecturers were shocked. It was the final send off and Jaishree didn’t want to do any more hiding. Souvik, meanwhile, was on everyone’s hot list. And hit list. The newly-wed ought to be given a wedding shower, the guys decided. Celebrations of a slightly different kind. After all, he had stolen from right under the black robes of the other male lawyers, the prettiest girl in class!
When a Lawyer Falls in Love Page 15